Important Notice: I am currently re-writing all of the chapters in this story, because, looking back, I have a lot of plot holes and my writing is pretty weak at some parts. Please bear with me. I would still appreciate feedback on if you like the new version of the chapters and if it makes more sense. It would suck to rewrite everything and then have it be worse than before. Thanks! You guys are awesome:)

I also want to apologize for the lack of updates. I have no excuse. I'm just an awful person :( I hope I haven't lost too many of you. For those of you still reading, you are the BEST and I love you to pieces!

A/U: Lance Alvers was orphaned when he was 7 and sent to an orphanage. There he met Katherine Pryde, a fellow orphan at only 5 years old. Ten years later, they meet again, but this time on opposing teams.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, and I am not making any money off of this.

Never Again

It was yet another cold, stormy night in the slums of Chicago. The unforgiving winds howled as rain pour down upon a small decrepit apartment building. Inside number 113 a young boy, barely seven years old, sat in a room that vaguely resembled a living space watching a small fuzzy television. He wore a dirty white t-shirt filled with holes and threadbare second hand jeans that were too big for his lanky, underfed frame.

"Lance!" a woman called (probably his mother). "Hurry up and eat something before He gets home." There was an air of fear and desperation in her voice as she told her son this, something which was not lost upon Lance. He sighed as he turned off the television and got up to join his mother in the "kitchen" area of the apartment.

She nervously gazed up at the clock as she set Lance's microwave dinner on the plastic dining table. AN appetizing meal of suspiciously brown meat and semi-liquid mashed potatoes stared back up at Lance from where he had seated himself.

"Come on Lance," his mother almost whispered. "Eat up. Hurry." She said this last word with an urgency that sickened Lance. The very thought of eating that so-called food was enough to—

"Lance! Don't' you dare turn your nose up at this food! This is all we can afford. Be grateful you have any food at all. With the way things are going—" Her voice wavered off into a series of light wretches and sobs.

Lance immediately felt guilty and stared down at his ratty old sneakers in shame. He lifted his plastic fork and began to eat, silently, ignoring the waves of nausea that poured over him as he took bite after revolting bite. Eventually he began to give up on chewing the leathery meat and swallowing it whole instead. After he gagged once or twice, his mother spoke up again.

"This is all we can afford right now," she repeated herself. "It's all that's in our budget." She left out the fact that the only reason she had been able to afford the microwave dinner in the fist place was because it had been on sale at the supermarket for having passed its expiration date. But never mind that. Food was food, right?

"Your father's…work hasn't been going too well," his mother continued, looking down at a yellowish-purple bruise on her wrist.

Lance sighed softly. He knew she was lying. It was obvious. He knew that his father was an unemployed drunk. He knew that the little money his father did manage to collect was blown on alcohol. He knew that each and every night his father went out to get raving drunk to forget about his problems. To forget about his family, his wife. To forget about his son. And he knew what happened when his father came home drunk.

Lance looked at his mother, sadness in his eyes. He studied her delicate face, her elegant neck, and slender arms and legs. He was sure she had once been a very beautiful woman, but with all those cutes and bruises covering almost every inch of her body, she no longer looked the part.

"Oh, Lance," she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He just sat there, not speaking. A lone tear ran down her face. Finally he spoke. "Don't cry, Mom," he said as he hugged her back.

She sniffled and the straightened. "Now hurry up and finish your dinner. You need to be asleep when your father gets home…"

Lance nodded and kept on eating.

When h e finished, he stood up, kissed his mother goodnight, and opened the door to what appeared to be a closet. Inside there was a tiny lamp, a small mattress, and some blankets. He steeped inside, closed the door so that only a crack was opened, turned off his lamp, and laid down to go to sleep. "Night, Mom," he called.

"Goodnight Lance, my baby," she answered quietly, tears running down her face. "I'm so sorry."

It was around 1 a.m. when the creaking door of Apartment number 113 was shoved open, and a very drunk Mr. Alvers staggered inside.

"It's about time," Lance's mother said bitterly from the couch.

For the first time, Mr. Alver's attention was drawn to her small figure. He simply stared at her for a moment, attempting to process what she had just said. "Shut up, woman," he spat.

She stood up angrily. This was the last straw. She was standing up to him, putting her foot down. "Jack! If things were different, you could waste your life at the bar and get drunk to your heart's content and I wouldn't give a rat's ass, but we have a son to raise, and bills to pay! Why can't you understand that? We have no money! Look around you! Do you really want your son to grow up like this—"

She was cut off by a resonating crack as he smacked the side of her face viciously. She cried out, clutching her cheek.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, woman," he hissed at her venomously, the rage tangible in his voice.

Lance woke up in his closet, peeking through the crack of the door. Oh God… It's happening again… He hugged his pillow to himself and curled up into a ball, holding his knees. He watched as his father made his way to the kitchen, swaying in his drunken stride. He opened the refrigeration and pulled out a beer.

His mother's eyes bulged and she gave a frustrated scream. "Haven't you had enough?" she shrieked at him. "What is wrong with you? You're gone all day 'working', while I'm here, trying to raise our son, then you blow all the money you manage to get on drink, come home, and expect me to just silently stand by and accept it?" Her voice had reached a high pitched screech by now.

"Well I've got news for you Jack! I've had enough! I can't take it anymore! I thought you would change when Lance was born, but everything just got worse! I'm taking Lance, and we are getting as far away from here as possible!"

Lance stared from his makeshift room. He whimpered, knowing exactly what was coming next.

His father's brow crinkled in a temporary moment of doubt. "You can't leave me! You have no where to go!" he yelled, his restraint wearing dangerously thinner and thinner.

"We'll find somewhere!" she screamed at him. She ran towards Lance's room, but his father blocked her path.

"You WON'T leave me!" his patience was gone. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her down onto the floor. He punched at her, hitting her jaw, and then her stomach. She screamed, which merely prompted him to hit her harder. "You going to leave now woman?" he whispered maliciously.

Lance looked away. He had never seen his father so angry. Before, he had only slapped her once or twice, or pushed her around. This time her seemed almost… for lack of a better word, bloodthirsty. There was a malevolent glint in his eyes that had never been present before, a crazed animalistic glint which almost screamed I'll kill her, I'll kill her just to hear her scream some more.

No, no, no. Please no… He hugged his knees tighter.

Jack had backed his mother up against a cabinet near the television, and she was terrified, shaking all over. Last time she had almost broken her arm, but now she could tell it was going to be much worse. He was looking murderous. She whimpered and began to open a drawer quickly. Tears were streaming down her face as she reached in and grabbed a small, black handgun. She was trembling from head to foot.

Lance's father laughed. "Go ahead, take a shot!" he yelled at her, the maniacal glimmer in his eyes growing. "You can't, you don't have it in you! You wouldn't shoot your own husband!" he said, his bone chilling laughter returning.

He lunged toward her, ready to beat her, ready to break her frail body, when a deafening roar was heard followed by a thump. Then a hysterical sob and the sound of someone falling to the floor.

Lance timidly lifted his head from the mattress to look out the crack in the door. His body was practically convulsing as he tried to stand, his jelly legs barely supporting him. He slowly stepped out of his room. Nothing could have ever prepared him for what he saw on the other side of that door.

His father was on the floor, his body twisted in a strange position, his own crimson blood flowing all over the floor. Next to him, in a blood-drenched, sobbing heap, was his mother on her knees. She was hyperventilating, holding the sleek, black gun in her hands, just staring at her husband's corpse.

Lance couldn't move. He watched in horror. It finally hit him that his father was dead. His mother had killed him. He was gone. Gone for good. Then the sight of his mother screaming and crying, gasping for breath sunk in, making him feel sick. He started vomiting all over the floor a few feet from where his parents lay. He couldn't breathe, and he remembered falling to the ground, and blacking out.

When he woke up, the buzzing of sirens and flashing lights surrounded him. He knew he had been moved from where he had fallen in the apartment. He was on a cot, or a stretcher, maybe, but when he tried to sit up to get a better look of where he was, he instantly regretted doing so. He suddenly felt nauseous again, and started throwing up over the side of the stretcher. A woman was instantly next to him.

"Calm down, sweetie," she said in a soothing voice. "Let it all out, you'll feel a lot better once you do." She placed her hand on Lance's back as a fresh wave of nausea overcame him.

He slowly realized he was outside his apartment building on an ambulance stretcher. Apparently, a concerned neighbor had heard all the screaming and had called the police. Lance felt so dizzy and out of place. He tried to talk. "Where's Mom?" he whispered, sounding like the frightened, helpless child he was.

The woman smiled sadly. "Your mom's going to be okay, don't worry," she said. "We'll take care of her."

With that, Lance relaxed and let sleep over come his tired body.

It was two days later that Lance was finally able to see his mother. A nurse that had taken care of him when he got to the hospital that night was taking him to the room where his mother was.

"Is she okay?" Lance asked.

The nurse paused, wondering how to explain it to a small child. "She's—she will be okay… physically… but the rest of her will get better…in time…"

"So when can we go home?" he said, sounding so innocent for a child who had seen so much.

The nurse looked down at him, an unfamiliar emotion in her eyes. Lance couldn't identify it at first… Instead of answering his question she sighed and looked away.

Pity… It was pity.

They arrived at the room and stepped inside. It was scary for Lance, seeing his mother, then only person he had ever loved, lying on the white bed looking so sickly and thin. She was hooked up to a variety of machines, one of which emitted a steady, monotonous beeping sound.

"What's wrong with her?" Lance asked the nurse, his voice barely audible.

"Well, Lance… We—we brought you here to say goodbye to your mom…" she said solemnly, feeling extremely guilty. She had tried to hint that she wasn't going to be able to go home for a while, but he was too young to understand her subtlety.

Lance looked up at her in disbelief. "What? What are you talking about? Mom's coming home, and everything's going to be okay!" he screamed, panicking.

"Lance," the nurse said, her heart breaking for the little boy. "Lance, your mother had a mental breakdown… She—she can't take care of you anymore."

Lance tore away from her and ran to his mother's bedside. "You're lying! You said everything would be okay!" he cried, tears falling freely from his chocolate brown eyes. "You lied to me!" He began shaking his mother, but she wasn't responding; she just kept staring at the wall. "Mom!" he screamed. "Mom! Wake up!" He was hysterical. His mother finally seemed to wake.

"Lance?" she said. "Lance. My baby. My Lance. Is that you?"

"It's me Mom! She said that you couldn't take care of me! She's lying right? Right, Mom? Everything's going to be okay, right?" he cried frantically.

"Lance, I can't…"

"You can't what, Mom?"

"I can't take care of you anymore…"

"But Mom! You—"

"You'll be better off if you go with her, Lance," she said and smiled weakly. "Just go, Lance. Promise me you'll go."

"Why Mom? Why? Don't you want me? Don't you love me? Why are you lying to me? Why is everyone lying to me?" he begged of his mother, tears falling like rain.

"I—I'm not lying to you sweetie. Of course I love you. I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to…but I just can't anymore. I can't take care of you. I can't give you a good life. Listen to me Lance," her voice cracked as she started to cry as well. "Listen to me, go with the nurse. Go with her. Promise me, no matter what, that you'll go with her. Do you promise, Lance?"

The seven year old swallowed his sobs and nodded. "I promise, Mom."

He stood on his tiptoes next to her bed, gave her a kiss, and hugged her. "I love you," he said.

"I love you too, Lance. More than life itself… more than life itself," she whispered back.

The nurse stood in the corner, forgotten. "Lance," she said. "I'm gong to take you to the orphanage now. You'll be living there, and you'll make lots of friends." She tried to smile and sound enthusiastic and positive, but only succeeded in sounding strained. It was times like these when she hated her job.

"Coming," he said, his voice cracking, making no effort to wipe away his tears. He took her hand and walked out of the room, trying not to look back.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Now make my day and hit the review button and leave me a nice long review. You know you want to ;) Let me know what you think!